Static Frequency
by Captain Capitalist
Summary: Virgil Hawkins is a highly gifted student with a particular interest in physics and has an internship at S.T.A.R. Labs. On the night of the explosion, like most survivors, he found himself gifted with incredible powers. Geeky Virgil soon adopts the swashbuckling persona of Static. Will he and Flash get along?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Flash nor Static, it is a property of DC Comics. **

**A/N:** This just something I wrote on the fly. Please read and review.

**December 31, 2013**

**Paris Island, Central City**

An assault force silently emerged from the foggy night air. The empty streets of Central City open up to them. They walk past an abandoned gaming Arcade. The multi-story establishment had been dark and shuttered for decades, resembling Flynn's Arcade from TRON.

Dressed like commandoes, with the usual dark blue stuff – a cadre of battle fatigues, combat boots, weapons and equipment harnesses and vision goggles. The A.R.G.U.S. were their name. An research group formed by the government to perform clandestine mssions.

The Two leaders used hand signals motion to their team. They reacted as they'd been trained. In a smooth, fluid motion they creep forward like a shadowy herd, funneling in through the entrance from two directions.

They spread out and position themselves at different points, in a usual flanking pattern, securing the area. They take note of the various gang bangers posted around the place, keep watch.

He keyed his earbug in a vain attempt to make sense of his team's chatter jamming the radio, reporting "In position."

Another soldier takes position behind a stack of crates and draws his blaster held in a one-handed grip, activating his earbug, reporting, "In position."

"Copy that."

The team soon settles in for a spell of surveillance whilst concealing themselves from possible view of the gang members stationed in the area.

Forcing themselves to bide their time as they watch their prey.

They see two cadres of gang bangers appear from the darkness, wreathed in white smoke. Differing in bandana color.

The soldiers discerns that the exchange is about to go down. The leader keys his earbug reporting, "Hostiles are in play."

The two civilian gangs soon collide in a _clash of the titans_ type of violence. The fight had quickly devolved into hand-to-hand combat, an individual display of martial capability. All was seen were elbows and fists and legs.

At that moment, the assault force knew then that they lost the element of surprise. It was time to shift into overdrive and apply brute force.

Remaining in position behind crates, they launched a rain of tear gas cans onto the viscous scuffle, hoping to break it up.

Tear gas filled the docks..

The thugs were coughing desperately for air.

Just then, a wide column of energy tears into the sky with a violet force. The gang members stop fighting and turn their attention to the sky.

They all forgot that it was the night that the Particle Accelerator would turn on. Thunderclap and storms erupts throughout the sky. The sky darkens. Then a bright energy wave amplifies from out of the sky. It impacts the ground, causes of ripple of residual energy to flow over the surface. It becomes more consistent until the energy wave disappears.

Wails of pain can be heard from the gang bangers as they disperse in droves.

A lurking figure appeared form the smoke, coughing, a pair of chrome blue eyes met them.

The figure trotted forward revealing to be a teenage boy of mahogany complexion. His braids complimented his boyish good looks.

The teen boy froze in motion when he was met with a cadre of GI's with their weapons leveled at him.

"Hold it right there." barked the Team Leader.

Scarlet dots flared all over the teen's body.

He met the soldiers with a blank expression. "W-Well, I've gotta jet." He quipped. "Do you mind?"

"Freeze or we'll shoot." The soldiers cocked his weapon.

"No-!" hen urged. "Don't shoot-!" Without knowing it, the teen generated a spark which whirled sinuously around him. It amplified it to a white hot incandescence and sent it flashing all the way to the soldiers head-on.

Tossing the trained commandos aside like rag-dolls putting them to shame. Before their leader could tell them to stand down, it was already too late.


	2. Chapter 2

Doctor Harrison Wells opened the door to his apartment unit and rolled past the threshold into the darkness inside, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light.

His place was a total mess. Papers and books were piled everywhere.

When Wells switched on the light, he realized he wasn't alone. A figure stepped out from the shadows.

A woman to be exact.

Harrison almost bolted upright in alarm. Then he saw the woman's face. "Agent Waller." He said with relief. "Looks like you've made yourself at home."

Amanda Waller, Director of A.R.G.U.S.

A powerful political figure who has been involved with several espionage and law enforcement agencies. She made her career on the backs of adversaries who have underestimated her. Hence how she earned her nickname, "The Wall".

An African American woman in a tailored business suit. It was dark like her hair which was bound up in an elaborate bun. She carried herself with a commanding presence.

"Doctor," Amanda sat down, she took in Harrison's drawn face. He looked like he hadn't had a full night's sleep in days.

She was right. "How you been holding up?"

"Love the job.. hate the hours." He said gruffly.

Amanda gestured to the mess around them. "Clearly."

"Agent Waller, What can I do you for?" he asked, meaning "What the hell do you want?"

Sitting in a chair across the worktable from him. She takes her vodka neat of course and downs it in one go. She eyes him, nursing her glass and says, "I know about Barry Allen."

Harrison blinked at that. "What?" he asked. "What exactly do you know?"

"The what." She replied. "I saw him. And I saw what he can do, who he is. And now I see all kinds of things." She let that sink in before saying, "I see what you sacrificed for him, Doctor. For everyone, really."

"A.R.G.U.S." He said wryly. "Can't spell Intelligence without Intel."

"I get the job done, that's true." She said with a smile. "I've followed your extracurricular activities with interest for years, Doctor."

"For the best, I trust."

"The Senior Partners have expressed a concern for the Meta-Human situation." She said in a reasonable tone. "I'm working on a little something. A special project. If you're interested, I'd love to have you on my team. As a consultant, of course."

"What kind of project?"

She handed him a manila folder with the A.R.G.U.S. Logo embossed on the front. Beneath that was the words PROJECT BELLE REEVE stamped in red ink. The contents proved to be rap sheets of young men and women.

Glossy surveillance photos of supernatural occurrences.

All Meta-humans. Each was at the top of Interpol's Red Notice list.

A.R.G.U.S. Intelligence had ID'd them with codenames that suited their superhuman abilities: Hotstreak, Tarmack, Ebon. And the list goes on.

Soon it all clicked in his mind. "You want me to help you build a Meta-Human Prison."

She broadened her smile. "Checkmate. Wherever there is evidence of people with abilities, they will be rescued and held in this facility."

"You call kidnapping them and dragging them there rescue?"

Amanda arched an eyebrow. "I call it protective custody, Doctor." She said defensively. "Whose it intended to protect is open to interpretation."

"Why should I believe you?" his voice was even and leveled.

"Come on, Harrison. Think about it." She said. "Meta-Human factions are being formed as we speak. And it's foreshadowing a threat we will not take lightly.

"Tell yourself whatever you want. You and I both know that there's a war brewing, Doctor." She said. "And even the Flash can't be everywhere at once."

"And Barry won't be harmed?" asked Wells.

"Nor will he ever discover your involvement." She said. "You have my word."

Stifling a chuckle he said," Forgive me if I don't find that comforting."

"The time has come for you to do your patriotic duty. You know where to reach me." Before Harrison could say anything Amanda had already let herself out.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: I am grateful for you guys taking the time out of your day to read my fan fiction and I appreciate the feed back. Please feel free to leave a nice comment if you can.

Ch.3: WORLD'S FINEST

A white van barreled down the crowded streets of Central City, sideswiping cars out of its wake. Ignoring traffic lights as it cut through an intersection at 5th Avenue and Vaughn.

"We're coming up on the gate."

"Go straight through."

Mal pressed down steadily on the accelerator and the van gained momentum as they neared the gate.

"Hold on." Mal advised, gripping the steering wheel.

It jumped the curb, smashed into the wrought iron gate and through it, sending the screaming pedestrians running to safety. One of them being Barry Allen.

With no time to spare, Barry's instincts took over. He kicked himself into a higher gear reducing the world around him to a slower tempo.

Everything that happened next had occurred over a period of about five seconds, and yet to Barry, it felt like five months.

Displaying an unnatural grace, Barry saved any stragglers away from the speeding carnage a way that would have made Neo proud.

The man behind the wheel and his criminal cohorts were desperately searching for an escape route. And they had good reason to since they were pursued by a cluster of howling sirens and dome lights of Central City's finest.

Blades of grass kicked up as they veered through a Park and met cement road once again.

Mal at the wheel, raised his knit wool balaclava, frowning into his rearview mirror. "Aw, what do ya' know." He said with the faintest hint of sarcasm. "It's the fuzz."

Riding shotgun was his buddy, Pete. Adjusting his side mirror, stealing a glance at their pursuers. He was nervous, but still managed to keep a straight face. "Yo', next time you have a plan, you wanna let us in on it?"

The third guy, Cowan, wiggled himself between the front seats. Sweat bathed his sloping brow and wide nose. "Yeah," He chastises. "Boss is not going be happy about-"

"Pipe down," Mal hissed from the driver's seat. Which is all he's been barking for the entire operation. He leaned forward on the steering wheel, scowling ahead. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. We got the payload and we're almost out of the hornet's nest."

It was safe to say, that the heist didn't go down as planned.

Apparently, the speeding patrol must have radioed for backup since more soon emerged from the side streets.

Mal at the wheel, his fingers gripping the leather, he gave it a sharp jerk.

The van fishtailed briefly as it cut a hard left, moving East on Prospect, avoiding the busy freeway. He leans hard on the accelerator, pushing the truck to a hundred. Central City whizzing past their windows in a blur.

"They're gaining on us, man."

He was right.

The speeding patrol cars caught up so close, that the rear doors of the van were bathed in red flashing light. The pursuing cruiser surged forward and rear ended the van with a calamitous force.

The van lurched and bobbed violently..

And then, without warning, the sound of rushing wind increased. A reddish streak flashed of lightning from beyond through the streets of Central City. The blur whizzed past the smashed police cruisers and catching up with the van.

Cowan turned back from the rear window.

With a pained look on his face. "Aw man, I-It's him. The Flash." he whelped. "We're going to be put away, for good."

Pete's smirk tightened a fraction. "Kid, speak for yourself."

Reaching into his blue duffle, he lifted a Heckler & Koch MP5, his personal pride and joy. He grinned at the crisp metallic sounds of the rounds being chambered and a hammer being cocked, making a show to his cohorts that he meant business. "Just keep 'er steady."

"Hate to break it to ya'" said Cowan. "The guy's, like, faster than a speeding bullet, man."

"The Flash, yeah." Pete chortled and yanked his mask down. "But the Fuzz, ain't."

He leans out of the passenger side window, his sub-machine cradled in his palms. He centers it at the trailing black and whites, squeezes the trigger and the weapon in his hand exploded on full auto, bursting a whining hail of gunfire on the pursuing patrols. "Chow down on this!"

In the lead cruiser, the two uniforms ducked behind the dashboard as gun fire chewed up the hood, battering the windshield something fierce until it shattered under the tremendous force. "Ugh-Get down! Down!"

Losing control, the lead patrol spun wildly, and sideswiped another police cruiser. Both cars were soon rammed by a third cruiser, creating a domino effect. Soon the road was congested with ruin squad cars.

Soon a figure clad in scarlet emerged from the reddish blur and skidded to an immediate halt. Barry inspected officers conditioned. Some of the patrol officers climbed out. "Is everyone okay?"

One uniform thumbed the call button on his walkie-talkie handset clipped to his shoulder. While relaying to dispatch that rescue units are needed on site, the van roared away into the distance, barely drowning out the joyful howling of the crooks.

The gunman grinned, ear to ear, a bubbling chuckle rolled up out of his chest. "Central City's finest, heh?"

And then, his laughter abruptly stopped.

A mild sensation was felt as a silver glow traveled the length of his weapon, completely encasing it. His pride and joy popped out from his grasp as though it were a wet slippery bar of soap, leaving his fingers closing empty.

His eyes widened in dismay at his sadly empty hand, trying to mentally digest.

To his horror, a shadow rolled over him and the hairs on his body rose.

Twisted around, looking over his shoulder, he then let out a shriek.

At first, he had no idea what he was seeing:

A guy was flying.. no.. hovering before him. Kind of like Aladdin, but with a magic manhole instead of a magic carpet.

Perched on his glider, his dark blue hoodie billowing in the rushing wind. His eyes and fists flaring silver while keeping pace with the van effortlessly.

He gestured gingerly toward the MP5 floating next to him. "Mm-mm. Metal weapons and dumb thugs," His voice distorted. "It must be Monday in Central City."

Pete was speechless.

The flying figure swung laps around the van three times behind angling down towards the gun man.

Virg's too-billowy hoodie flared with silver sparks. With a flex of his forearm, jolts of electricity erupted from his palm, magnetizing the van's drive train.

Mal's eyes went wide. He slammed his foot on the brakes, and threw the wheel. A big mistake. An inferno of orange sparks rained as the van flip end-over-end off of the road.

Inside it, the three amigos found themselves cast out of their seats, bouncing off of the walls and ceiling.

It soon landed on its side and laying still save for its spinning wheels. Without warning, a flame grows on the underside of the vehicle. The metal surfaces of the vehicle glowed red hot. If it spreads the car could explode.

Soon the rear double doors were kicked open. Groaning in pain, the three criminals hobbled out the back. Bruised and scarred pretty good. 

* * *

><p>Later on..<p>

Deep in the bowels of S.T.A.R. Labs, Cisco, Caitlin, Barry, and Joe were on the edge of their chairs. Leaning over the center console. They speculated about the possibility of some kind of Hostile action.

Doctor Wells sat imperiously in his wheelchair near the center of the room. It is clear that he has certain demons driving him, but it wasn't quite clear to Detective Joe West what those demons were. At least not yet.

Dr. Wells adjusted his glasses and looked at Barry sideways. "You're suggesting a meta-human?"

"You bet." said Barry, who pulled back his mask to reveal a brown-haired youth underneath. "That Particle Accelerator is the gift that just keeps on givin'."

Warming to the subject, Joe said, "Tell me you got a good look at him, Bar."

"At a glance," He said with an exasperated sigh. "Trouble is, I couldn't ID the guy. I mean, he didn't exactly stick around to chat."

"We gotta go on something." he prompted him.

Barry slowly collected his thoughts, "Come to think of it," a frown crossed his face, trying to recall. "He wore a suit. A blue suit, like a uniform, or something." He then added, "And his hands - they glowed, like, uh-"

"Like electricity." Dr. Wells assured him. Everyone in the lab swiveled their heads and regarded him almost as if seeing him for the first time. He leaned forward in his chair. "My guess, a meta-gene for super electromagnetism."

"Sweeeeet," Cisco breathed in awe.

Caitlin rolled her eyes in annoyance. "How did you know?"

"Think it through." said Wells, rolling his chair toward her.

"The soot on the ground where the cement is burnt," said Caitlin mentally putting the puzzles pieces together. "Evidence of arc blasts. Happens when high aberrant currents travel through the air."

"Precisely."

"It's not much," said Barry. "But it's something."

Joe's eyebrows knit. "Okay. How does he fall into all of this?" he asked. "I mean, who is he?"

"I don't know, maybe… Maybe he's just like me." added Barry who turned with a mystified air towards the group. "Ya know, using his powers to do good."

The Doctor offered a wan smile. "Let us hope so, Mr. Allen."

"Either way, we better check him out." said Joe. "We need to find out who this Meta-human is. Find out where he lives, what school he goes to - something."


	4. Ghosts

Ch.4 "GHOSTS"

Virgil barreled down to a nearby alleyway, moving as fast as he could. Once vanished in the darkness, he yanked off his blue suit and pulled on his civilian attire. An instant later, a rail-thin boy in disheveled clothing hotfooted out of the alley, with a back pack slung over his shoulder. "I'm gonna get it this time."

Virgil Hawkins arrived late again at Mercury Labs. He was grateful earn his internship there, learning Structural Engineering. In the refurbished heart was state-of-the-art computing facilities.

Doctor Tina McGee made it clear that she keeps an eye out for promising talent in scientific fields. Virg has ton of potential, if it wasn't for his frequent tardiness, she would include him on better projects such as Project F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M.

The two lives he led no one would believe. In one life, he was fighting crime in garish clothing, the next he's geeky Virgil. He found the balancing act difficult. He's been lying for months, especially to the ones who mattered to him the most.

Virg had no idea why Doctor McGee was being so elusive about the special project, he guess that she had her reasons. "You have a problem with authority, Mr. Hawkins." She said from her neat and tidy desk. "Or am I wrong in thinking that?"

Her office contained an awesome collection of antique pistols and rifles mounted on the wall. Also decorated with souvenirs of her accomplishments.

Virg took a deep and reflexive breath at the consideration of his supervisor. "If you let me explain-"

She interrupted him. "You seem to believe that somehow the rules here don't apply to you."

"That's not -"

"Obviously you are mistaken." She interrupted him again. "It is my assumption that your father has had to pull strings in order to place you here, Mr. Hawkins. I mean, it doesn't take a genius."

Virg slumped his head, defeated. "Yes, Ma'am."

"Well, genius or not, If you can't find yourself here on time, then you'll find yourself out of an internship. Am I clear?"

Suppressing a sigh, he said "Yes ma'am."

"That'll be all."

* * *

><p>Pete sat in the interrogation room under intense bright lights with nothing other than a grimy double-paned observation glass on the far wall. His hands cuffed. The room smelled of cigarette smoke and stale coffee.<p>

The floor was dirty with tile and the table was scarred with carved epithets.

As soon as the two detectives walk in, he sits up right. For a moment they regarded each other silently.

Eddie closed the door behind him and leaned against it.

Joe slid into the chair at the right of him. Tucked in the crook of his elbow was a manila folder thick with notes. He laid it on the table and flipped it opened. Glancing at some papers inside.

Without looking up from his work, he said aloud: "Okay, bad news. Turns out, you're being charged with the attempted murder of three police officers."

Pete's face soured. "Attempted murder? H-Hold on a minute..! You serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"You will be held in a holding cell until transferred to Iron Heights located in Keystone. From there, you will await trial."

"You understand these charges?"

Pete bit his lip as his mind conjured up images of being bunkmates with Triad members like Cyrus Vanch or if possible, the crazy Helena Bertinelli. He stole a sidelong glance at Eddie, panic clearly registered in his eyes. "I want my attorney."

With a nonchalant shrug, he said, "Fine by me. You want fries with that?"

"Hey, I know my rights. I know my rights." He said, panic beginning to edge into his voice. "I want my attorney present or.. Or, I'm pleading the fifth.. commandment!"

"Amendment." Eddie rolled his eyes. "The Fifth Amendment."

He threw up his hands. "Yeah, whatever. Fifth Amendment."

"We'll get the story soon enough if you're holding out on us."

"Your buddies Pete and Mal are currently shackled to the desk in the interview room down the hall. Their testimony will be more than enough to convict you."

"Is that what you think?"

"You know what I think?" Joe retorted. "Up until a year ago, you were on the registry. Check Fraud. Possession. Racketeering-"

"No to mention Assault and Battery." Eddie let out a whistle. "A Full house."

"Then I'll play the cards as they're dealt." He says, with a shrug posing nonchalance.

"The court of public opinion is a harsh one, I hear." Eddie leaned in on Pete. "But I'll wager that you already knew that."

Joe could almost see the gears turning in Pete's head. They both sensed it. He was going to crack. "Take my advice, strike a deal."

After mulling that over for a few seconds, something in his Neanderthal intelligence clicked. "Alright, I give." He said at last. "Maybe we can work out some sort of uh deal, right?" He asked, "I mean, why waste the good tax payer's money?"

"You spill the beans in exchange for a lighter sentence." Joe didn't phrase it as a question, but Pete answered it anyway. "Only if you'll guarantee my safety right?"

Eddie nodded once, tersely.

Ever casual, Joe said, "Start talking."

"There's a new player higher up on the food chain. And he's not your garden-variety sum bag neither. I know his rep, okay? People say… People say, he doesn't play around."

"We talking deep pockets and powerful connections?" asked Joe.

"Yeah, something like that."

"So what about him?"

"He ran with a crew, way back when."

"A crew, who?"

"Don't know. Some kind of syndicate. We just met the one time."

Joe's mouth tightened. "What was the nature of this meeting?"

"He'd start passing word: A major throw down at the Paris Island Docks that night. All of the major crews were invited."

Joe quirked an eyebrow. "And what time was this?"

"'Bout a quarter to midnight."

"So according to you, he was the tail wagging the dog."

Pete nods

"And you followed?"

"Syndicate is like blood, ya know. So I backed his play. I figured we shake things up a bit." He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "'Sides, he knows things."

"Things, like?"

"Like, I've got family too. Don't want them in his crosshairs."

"My heart bleeds." said Joe. "You get eyes on this guy?"

"I didn't get a look at his face, no. I was too busy trying to get the payload into the van. From what I remembered, he was uh… black. Not like you per se, but like really, really black."

Joe snorted, "What like obsidian?"

"Pure shadow, way I hear it. I'm sayin' he was one of 'em. Bang babies, ya know... Freaks. Like the Flash."

A smirk togged at Eddie's lips. "You're a funny guy, you know that?"

"On my best day I couldn't make this stuff up. One minute he was there, clear as day. The next, Poof. Dude was gone."

Joe masked his curiosity behind his poker-face. "Let's say I believe you. Which I don't. Suppose this uh, ghost story, he got a name?"

Pete looked unblinkingly into his eyes. "Yeah. Ebon."

* * *

><p>Iris slowly came to, the pain in her head a pounding drum, throbbing with each beat of her heart. There was a sour smell to the air, the scorched residue of burnt rubber, and a metallic taste in her mouth, she knew was blood.<p>

The area around her was unrecognizable. None of which solves the big mystery. Pressing the heel of her hand to her battered forehead, she yowled. "What happened?"

Slowly, but surly, the memories came back, like a bad dream drifting in over pain: the shadow man.

And then, without change in light to prompt it, a pool of dark shadow grew in size on the wall behind her. The swarming shadow had swelled in size until a shadowy humanoid curled forth. "Used to be low-income housing. Now it's a nest. Boarded up windows, no electricity, sewer access."

"Huh?" Her eyes widened. "D-Do you know w-who my father is?"

"I was catching up on your blog." He continued. "And this story caught my eye about a speedster."

"T-The Flash?" She crawls backwards into a wall.

"Yeah, The Flash." He said menacingly. "You wouldn't happen to know how I could find him, would ya?"


End file.
